


Owner of a Lonely Heart

by shiftylinguini



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Drinking, First Time, Humor, Kissing, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Pastor Payno, Sort Of, a series of escalating dares, discussion of grief/loss of a parent, whisky dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 04:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17036642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: It’s a fabulous, mad idea, and like all the best, ridiculous plans that happen after seven or more drinks, it goes to shit almost immediately.Or: Nick meets Louis, alone in Las Vegas, and gets engaged to him 24 hours later.





	Owner of a Lonely Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louissass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louissass/gifts).



> Dear Louissass, I hope you enjoy this! I was excited to pinch hit for you, and I really liked your prompt about drunk weddings! I’ve gone a bit sideways with this, as always, and I hope it still hits the spot (even though they didn’t quite make it down the aisle).
> 
> I took massive liberties with the logistics of Vegas, chapels, everything ever. Please suspend all disbelief! Big big thanks to L for v valuable insights on Vegas, even though I still feel like I have no idea what I’m talking about here, to S for valuable Payne chain contributions and unwavering support, and to E for cheerleading and sending me pics of gaudy Vegas hotels. 
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Yes.

~*~

It starts with a dare.

“Eat it. Go on, eat it eat it!” Louis bangs his fists on the table, eyes shining with manic elfin glee. He’s like a scruffy pixie on steroids, and Nick is so so into him, and it does not make sense at all .

“I’m not fucking eating that.” Nick points at the small piece of sushi. They’re in a well posh Vegas restaurant (diner? Bistro? Nick’s terrible at speaking American) and they’re making a mild scene; they are quite pissed, and quite quite loud. Nick has known Louis for all of two days, if even that, and he might be the maddest fucker Nick has ever met. “It’s covered in chilli, you have _covered_ it in chilli,” Nick goes on. “If that thing goes in me, I will die.”

Louis clicks his tongue cheekily. “Bet that’s the first time you’ve ever said that, innit?”

“Shut it.” Nick flicks his straw at Louis. “And speak for yourself.”

Louis shrugs. “Eh. Anyway.” Louis makes a disparaging sound, waves his hand dismissively. “You will not die if you―”

“I will!” Nick fishes an ice cube out of his glass, pops it in his mouth in a pre-emptive move against the offending chilli-covered sushi. “I will explode and I will die, and before that, I will vomit all over you and your poky little ankles and I will think to myself.” Nick crunches his ice. It tastes a little bit gin-y still. Nick has no idea what they’re drinking at the moment. Something that comes in big tall glasses and is getting Nick nicely...wankered. “I will think to myself, serves him right for making me do this, then I’ll haunt you all the way back to Yorkshire. You and your vommy trainers.” Nick makes a spooky ghost sound, then tries not to burp. He might need to slow down on the gin-and-whatevers. 

“Nick, you will not die.” Louis laughs, and it’s such a nice sound. Nick is fucked, he’s actually fucked. 

He’s in Las Vegas, on a trip that he was meant to be on with his dickhead ex, who through a (now, in hindsight, not very surprising) large amount of dickheadery dumped Nick a fortnight before they were meant to go on their hols. Together. _Dickhead_. 

Nick wasn’t even that cut up about it, except that they’d booked tickets to fucking Vegas. Nick didn’t even want to go there. Also, he hated being dumped. He was a bit cut up about it, actually, even if it was more the principle of it rather than the fact things hadn’t worked out with Dickhead. So, being impulsive and mildly heart-annoyed and stroppy, if not quite broken, Nick’d got on a plane full of determination to enjoy this stupid pre-booked holiday out of spite, if nothing more. 

Once he got here, he’d just ended up full of crappy food and boredom, though, and a bit of wonky jetlag. He spent the first night lurking in bars and contemplating checking Tinder (he didn’t, but it was a near thing), sending Snapchats to Pixie and Fifi of every weird thing and person he saw, and pining for Pig. Under that, he just felt miserable and sad and couldn’t stop wondering why he’d ever thought spending a week in the US, on his fucking own and while licking his wounds from a failed relationship, would be a good idea. It was not his best plan. Not his worst, either, that was still the time he dressed up as a giant crab in public, but this was up there. He was stuck in a different country, entirely alone, and he was bored and restless. 

Until last night, when a small bloke had plonked himself down beside Nick, pointed one skinny finger at him and grinned. 

“You,” he’d said in a thick Yorkshire accent, leaning closer, “are Northern.” He smiled as if they were sharing a secret. “I’ve been eavesdropping, as you flirted badly with that waiter.” He gestured at the bloke Nick had been flirting with a half-arsed way. Nick was a social creature, through and through, and coming to this country on his own was a terrible, terrible idea. “I’m Louis.” Louis stole an olive off Nick’s plate, popped it into his mouth, then held out his hand. Nick blinked at the audacity of it all, then smiled a bit 

“I’m Nick.” He shook Louis’s extended hand. His fingers were oily from the olive he’d pinched, and Nick decided right then and there that even if Louis’s turned out to be a complete twat, it was better than eating a plate of olives and cheese on his own. 

“Evening, Nick. So, if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you’re either having the worst night of your life, or there’s an oyster stuck up your nose or summat.” Louis gestured at his own nose. “Fancy a bit of company?”

Nick really, really did. 

They’ve been drinking together since, last night and tonight again. Louis, it turns out, lives in London, smokes like a chimney, and is also here on his own, although he was noticeably cagey when Nick asked why. Nick wonders if there is a similar pathetic sob story behind Louis’s solo trip as there is behind Nick’s but he hasn’t pushed it. Nick is nosey by nature, but he isn’t a fan of prying things out of people. He’d much prefer things to be given up freely. 

Louis is also bored out of his mind by Las Vegas, which means both of them are probably doing it wrong, and he was utterly thrilled to have found someone from the UK to pester (Nick is into being pestered by him, he is so so into it). He’s loud, and cheeky, and really terribly attractive, and also very _very_ serious about dares. 

“Go on, please,” Louis cajoles, grinning his pointy grin. “You have to, I dared you.”

Nick didn’t know it was even possible for an adult to be so serious about dares ― and here Nick is, already doing mad shit to impress the fit boy he’s just met. God, and he’s so pretty, and massively unkempt, and even a bit trashy with his chest piece and knuckle tattoos. Nick is so far from bored now. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, fine.” Nick swigs the last of his drink as Louis cheers. They’re about to get to kicked out, he can feel it. “I’m not drunk enough for this, I’m going to die,” Nick says morosely. He can see a waiter coming towards them. The end is near. Nick is going to eat a revolting thing because a fit boy dared him to. He always knew it would come to this. 

“You definitely won’t die, mate.” Louis is smiling at Nick like he’s never been prouder of anyone before in his life. Nick preens a bit under the attention. “You’re going to live forever in my memory as the best bloke ever.” 

Jesus, Nick is practically glowing under the attention now. “God, you’re gonna kill me. I’ve never met someone so turned on by dares before.” 

“Never met anyone like me at all before, I’d wager.”Louis clicks his tongue. “Now stick that chilli whatsit in your gob and let’s go get more pissed. You’re fun when you’re pissed.” Louis leans back and smiles, a flirtatious tilt to his smile. 

Nick downs the chilli in one. He’s still gagging as the waiter arrives with their bill and a suggestion that they might like to take this elsewhere. Nick would feel embarrassed but his mouth is on fire, his stomach is in rebellion, and Louis is cackling like a toddler banshee. Nick makes a face, which only makes Louis laugh more as he stands up to leave, and even though the waiter is trying to glare them to smithereens, Nick does kind of love it. Nick’s never been that easy to embarass, anyway. 

He does leave a rather big tip, though.

~*~

The dares just get worse from there.

After getting booted from the restaurant, they’re left to wander the Vegas Strip, which is bright and basically as much an assault on the eyes as Nick always assumed it would be. Louis seems vaguely overwhelmed by it, but also like he’s having the time of his life, like a kid at a fair who is struggling to take in all the garish and glitzy marvels before him. It’s very fucking endearing. Nick isn’t sure if he’s having some kind of emotional rebound, or if it’s just a combination of being chucked and then stuck on his own, but he feels amazingly attached to Louis. He’s known him under 48 hours, and he already knows he wants to know him beyond this. 

For the first time all week, Nick doesn’t regret being dumped at all. 

He does, however, regret eating the chilli monstrosity Louis dared him to; his stomach is rioting and his mouth feels like he’s licked satan’s arsehole. He retaliates by daring Louis to open a bottle of soda water which Nick vigorously shook up on his way out of the 7-Eleven, and which very satisfyingly explodes all over Louis’s annoyed and soggy face. Louis’s hair looks a bit like he asked the hairdresser _‘make it look like a lion, but add a quiff, oh, and a mullet!’_ and Nick thinks it’s only improved by having drops of fizzy water all in it. The water also makes Louis’s white vest go rather see through, and Nick feel like a total perve for staring at Louis’s nipples and the shape of his tummy under the damp material. Suspicions confirmed: Nick fancies Louis. 

Louis’s smirk suggests he is quite aware of this, as does the way he lifts the base of his top to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and the line of light hair leading lower, and also exposing that Nick’s eyes are going to fall out if he doesn’t blink and stop staring any time soon. It’s just a really nice stomach, and Nick is definitely being given permission to look. Secondary suspicions also confirmed: Louis is absolutely flirting with Nick. Nick feels a bit smirky about this himself, to be honest. He loves a good flirt. 

“Right,” Louis says and he drops his his top back down. The hem falls to meet the base of his jeans. “My turn for a dare.” He wipes his face on the back of his hand, then dips his fingers into his front pocket, pulling out a very soggy pack of Pall Mall greens. “Well. Dare you to get me a new pack of these, ‘cos these are proper fucked now.” He laughs as he throws the wet pack at Nick’s chest. Nick fumbles to catch them, making a face when he reads the label. 

“Ew, menthols? You smoke bloody menthols, what are you, a fifty year old professional billiards player?

“Shut up.” Louis laughs again, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “Just do the dare, you ha ―”

“Yeah yeah, I have to.” Nick grins over his shoulder as he walks back towards the 7-Eleven. “I know the drill now, Lewis.” 

“It’s Louis!” Louis retorts, sounding affronted. “And get me a pack of them Skittle-y things, too.”

“What, you mean Skittles?”

“Yeah, them. Love ‘em.” Louis nods. “Now, off you pop, there’s a good lad.” He waves Nick off with a flick of his wrist. Nick shakes his head, but he buys the cigs and the lollies, all the same, and couple of cans of beer too. 

Louis lights up as soon as Nick hands the pack over. 

“So it’s your turn now.” Louis exhales smoke out, picking a fleck of tobacco off his lower lip as they walk down the strip, weaving in and out of the other groups of drunk and rowdy people. Louis takes another drag, blows the minty smoke upwards to avoid sending it into anyone’s face. 

“My turn for what?” Nick pops a Skittle in his mouth, then grimaces. He hates purple, he wanted a green one. Louis snatches the bag off him, grinning as he shoves an indiscriminate handful into his mouth. 

“Your turn to stop staring at me, and make a dare.” Louis sticks his tongue out, exposing the technicolour moosh on it, and Nick barks a shocked laugh. He runs a hand over his face, rubs it into the barely-there stubble on his cheeks. 

“Um, okay. Dare you to…” Nick tries to think of something. He isn’t very good at this; he can't think of a bloody thing. “Um, dare you to tell me why you’re here in Vegas?”

“Bzzz, no!” Louis mimes pressing a buzzer, then shakes his head. “Not answering that, that’s cheating.”

“How?” Nick asks, aghast, then nearly trips over his own shoes as he tries to avoid a pair of giggling women. “You never said there were rules to this, I’m not even sure what game we’re playing,” Nick gripes, pulling a beer out of the plastic bag hanging around his arm. He pops the can open with a flourish. He’s sobering up a bit, but still well tiddly. More beer is a good idea. 

Louis shrugs. “No rules. Not really.” He sighs, then gestures for a beer himself. “Fine.” Louis pops his own can open. “I’ll tell you.” He grimaces, then takes a sip. “You go first, though?”

Nick opens his mouth, ready to get a good rant on about why that was surely cheating, making Nick do his own bloody dare first, but there’s something wary and skittish about Louis’s expression, and a little bit pleading too. It’s like he’s stalling, or asking for a bit of extra time at the least before spilling his guts. Nick’s more than happy to accommodate that, if Louis really doesn’t want to talk. 

“Right, well.” Nick takes a swig of his beer. “God this really is watery piss, innit?” he complains, just to see if he can make Louis laugh. He gets a tight grin off him, which is good enough. “Anyway, I am here flying solo because I got chucked by my boyfriend,” Nick says with aplomb.

Louis stops in his tracks. “Shit,” he says, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t know that.” He looks stricken by Nick’s admission. 

“‘course you didn’t, s’why you asked.” Nick smiles to show there are no hard feelings. He slings an arm around Louis’s shoulders too, in the guise of urging him to start walking again. Louis also just looks like he could do with a cuddle. Nick is a cuddly sort.  
“Anyway, we had this stupid holiday booked and it was his idea to bloody come to Vegas, I’ve got no interest in it. Sorry, Vegas,” Nick says to the general area around him, waving with his beer can. “So when he chucked me, he very generously said I could keep the tickets and I was really close to saying he could have them back, but then I dunno. Kept them out of spite, didn’t I?” Nick smiles wryly at his own pettiness. “Then also came here out of spite. That’s what this is, I guess, my big spite holiday.” 

“Very mature,” Louis says, and Nick snorts a laugh. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Explains why you looked so miserable in the bar, then,” Louis adds, swishing the last of the content of his beer can around. 

“Oh yeah, was a bit sad I guess,” Nick admits, steering them around what looks like vom on the pavement. Ew. Good thing he has an arm around Louis’s shoulders, otherwise he might have stepped in it. Nick is a proper samaritan. “Mostly I was just bored to all buggery. Like, dunno what possessed me to come on me own, I can’t go ten minutes without running my mouth off. Before you popped up, I was just sat there sending sad emoji texts to my mates and wishing I would Skype my dogs.” 

Louis reaches into the bag to grab another beer, swapping it out for his empty can. “I’ve got a dog,” he says quietly, the hint of a smile around his lips. 

“Do you? They’re the best, aren’t they. Proper fucking miss mine.” Nick sighs. “Pig and Stinky.” 

“Eh?” 

“My dogs. Pig and Stinky.”

“Jesus.” Louis laughs. “Don’t ever have kids, if that’s your naming game.”

“What’s yours called then?”

“Clifford. Best name.” 

“That’s a good dog name,” Nick agrees. “Is he nine feet tall and bright red?”

“Nah,” Louis says faux-sadly. “Only eight feet. Sort of curly and brown.”

“Ahh, pity that.” A couple of passing blokes give them a dirty look as they pass, and Nick refuses to drop his arm. He’ll move it if Louis asks him to, but not because of the pissy looks of random passersby. This isn’t his first rodeo, as it were, and nosey people can fuck well and truly off. He feels Louis bristle slightly as a result of it, obviously having noticed their looks too, but he doesn’t shrug Nick’s arm off. Nick thinks this isn’t Louis’s first rodeo either. He spares a moment to feel well and truly exhausted and fed up that both of them are so used to getting funny looks from people than it’s par for the course. It’s fucked, that. Nick sets the feeling aside, focuses on his watery piss beer and putting one foot in front of the other. It’s a good distraction. 

“Sorry about your boyfriend, mate,” Louis says ruefully. Nick blows a raspberry, pulling Louis in tighter for a moment, out of defiance of the blokes, now well behind them (thank god), and because he just wants to. Louis fits nicely under his arm. Nick’s grin practically flies off his face when he feels Louis loop his free arm around Nick’s lower back in turn. 

“Eh. It was for the best, I reckon,” Nick says. He doesn’t look at Louis, only because Nick knows he's got a dumb smitten look on his face, and Louis doesn’t need to realise how soft and gooey Nick is just yet. “So, your turn then, I reckon.” Nick does look at Louis now, and immediately regrets opening his big mouth. 

“Oh. Right, my turn.” Louis’s mouth turns down, his expression falling. “Um. I’m here, ‘cos. Like.” He clears his throat, but doesn’t go on, staring down at his feet instead. After a moment longer he pulls the smokes out of his pocket, moves his hand from around Nick’s waist to fumble his lighter out too. Nick feels immensely relieved when Louis returns his arm around Nick’s back, but also feels incredibly shit that Louis is clearly still so bothered by answering this question. Nick didn’t want that at all. 

“Alright, how about this. New dare!” Nick announces, squeezing comfortingly at Louis’s shoulder as Louis looks up at him with a surprised frown. Nick hates seeing Louis so uncomfortable, hates _anyone_ to be uncomfortable around him. For all he knows Louis is on the run from the law, or is an international spy, or had maybe been dumped like Nick only in a much worse way. Whatever it is, it isn't going to stop Nick from fancying him. 

“New dare?” Louis asks, sounding slightly hopeful as well as a bit confused. 

“Yep, new dare.” Nick points at a group of rowdy women further up and standing around near the entrance of a club. They’re all dressed in heels and wedding veils and pink shawls with _‘Bride to Be’_ and _Head Bridesmaid_ on them in glittery silver. “Get one of them veils off that lot.” 

Louis stares at the group of hens. “Jesus.” He looks apprehensive, but like he’s more than willing to rise to the challenge. He also shoots Nick an immensely grateful look for the change of direction of the evening, and for not making him talk. 

“Go on then, love.” Nick swings his plastic bag so the remaining beer cans tap Louis on the bum. “Off you pop and get me a veil, there’s a good boy.” 

“You’re fucking mad,” Louis says, but he squares his shoulders, stubbing his cigarette completely out on the bin and then dropping the butt inside. “If I do this, I get to make a whopper of a dare next time.” 

Nick shrugs, grinning and leaning against a wall. He’s so glad to have chirpy, happy Louis back again, and to see the back of that sad look on his face. “You can dare me to do whatever, pet.” Nick smirks. “Just gotta get one of them big swishy veils first. I fancy myself in that.” 

Nick can hear Louis laughing all the way up to the group of women.

~*~

Louis is the one who ends up wearing the veil.

“Suits me, dunnit?” Louis flips the gauzy lace over his shoulder, or tries to. The material is heavy, and looks itchy, and it does not suit Louis. It would not suit anyone, and Louis is well aware of this. He is also, like Nick, far too drunk to really give a stuff.

They’re well and truly pissed by now, a pair of proverbial newts, after having spent the better part of two hours getting drinks with the hens. Louis had, it turned out, simply marched up to them and asked for a veil. Rather than thwapping Louis in the face with a pink sash, the bride-to-be (Maria, lovely lady) had screeched with laughter, told Louis his accent was amazing, and he could have it if he came inside and bought them all a round of drinks. She also insisted he bring his boyfriend in with him, which Nick was a bit chuffed to hear Louis hadn’t corrected her on. 

One round of drinks turned into two, turned into god knows how many (shots, fucking christ they did so many _shots_ ). There was some dancing to some awful music, and some completely non sexy grinding between the whole group of them because they were all laughing too much, before the hens had to go to another club, tottering out onto the street in their heels and high spirits. Nick loved the lot of them, especially Maria who laughed like a banshee and had a wicked shimmy on her. She nearly fell over when she bestowed her veil upon Louis, to a round of badly out-of -ync applause and drunken whooping from her mates. Nick felt weirdly proud of Louis, for some reason. That reason was probably alcohol. 

After falling out of that club, and with Louis now nicely kitted out in an ugly veil, Nick knew he was in for some kind of massive retaliatory dare from Louis. Fortunately, Louis announced he was fucking starving and they needed to get food first. Nick had to agree; the olives were a long time ago, and he could do with something greasy to soak up some of the booze. Plus, all this daring and being public nuisances is hungry work. 

They end up in a burger king, gorging on what feels like half the menu, blinking fuzzily under the harsh glare of bright lights. It’s gross. Nick is loving it, and Louis even more so. 

“Nick.” Louis chews obnoxiously, mouth open. “Nick. Nicholas. Nicky.”

“No.” Nick swats at Louis with a napkin. “No, Nicky is not me. I am not a Nicky.” 

“But Grimmy is fine?” Louis arches one brow, which would have been far more imperious a look had he not been shovelling onion rings in his mouth at an alarming rate. Alarming for: Nick’s eyeballs, and Louis’s stomach, respectively. 

“Yep.” Nick eats three fries all at once. “Grimmy, Grimbles, Grim, all fine. But not Nicky.”

“Right, whatever. So it’s my turn now.” Louis is grinning a bit maniacally. “You said I could dare you to do something big, right?”

Nick nods, leaning forward to take a sip of his diet coke. It takes a few tries to get the straw in his mouth. “Mmhmm. Go on, do your worst, love.”

Louis’s grin turns outright feral. Nick stills, straw slipping from his mouth as his eyes narrow. “Wait, what’s that look for, what’re you thinking?”

Louis hiccups a giggle as he spins an onion ring around his finger. “Nick. Nick, I dare you.” He dissolves into laughter again, then takes Nick’s hand between his slightly greasy fingers. Nick is beginning to sweat. 

“What’re you ―”

“Nick, seeing as we are in Las Vegas, and seeing as I get to pick the next dare, I dare you...” Louis’s eyes shine with slightly-red rimmed and impish glee as he slips the onion ring onto Nick’s ring finger. “To marry me.”

The remaining French fries slip out of Nick’s slack hand and hit the plastic table top with a sad thwap. 

“You fucking what.” Nick feels faint. The onion ring is uncomfortably warm where Louis’s squished it onto his finger. 

Louis’s head hits the table with a loud thump, his hysterical giggling echoing out. “Fuck,” Louis chokes out between bursts of laughter. “Shit, your face, Nick. Look like you’re about to crap yourself!”

“I am!” Nick exclaims, indignant and confused. He waves his oniony hand. “You just proposed, that’s crap-myself worthy, I think!”

“I know!” Louis sits up, wiping his eyes. His veil has gone wonky, sliding off his somewhat flattened hair. His cheeks are red with laughter, and there’s a fry stuck to his cheek. “God, it’s a good one, innit?”

“What?!” Nick squawks, half laughing. “A good what?” He’s too drunk for this. Louis is bonkers, and everything is mad. 

“A good dare.” Louis flops a hand in Nick’s direction, then picks the fry off his cheek and drops it onto Nick’s tray. “Like, we’re in Vegas, gotta be one of them 24-hour chapels or whatever. Get Elvis to walk you down the aisle. Or Johnny Cash? Do they have a Johnny Cash?” Louis asks, distracted by his own line of thinking the way only the truly drunk can be. 

“Dolly Parton,” Nick says, forgetting he’s meant to be indignant. It’s a dumb idea, the dumbest of ideas, and there's onion ring squelching between Nick’s fingers, but still. He does fancy the idea of being married by a Dolly Parton impersonator.

Louis’s eyes light up. “Yeah, her! There’s gotta be a chapel around, I think there’s even one at my hotel, which is…” Louis looks around, then sort of wiggles his fingers in about three different directions before giving up with a shrug. “I dunno, it’s somewhere around here. Whatever, we can find one!” 

“That’s a completely mental thing to do, though!” Nick laughs, feeling weirdly exhilarated. He isn’t sure why, but he feels like he might actually do this. Like, fuck it, he’s in Las Vegas, it’s not that big a deal. Or that might just be the vodka talking. 

Louis giggles again, then runs a hand over his face. “‘Course we can, we can just get it, like, annulled later or whatever! Look, we don’t have to, though.” Louis looks at Nick seriously. “Like for real, don’t let me. Thingy.” Louis’s face scrunches up as he tries to think of the word. He clicks his fingers and points at Nick as it comes to him. “Peer pressure. That’s the ticket, don’t let me peer pressure you into marrying me, Nicholas.” He takes Nick’s hand back between his own, looking like he’s trying not to laugh. “That’s no foundation for a healthy marriage.” 

Nick chokes on his last bite of burger, then sputters a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

“And I respect that you might be too chicken.” Louis is grinning now, smug and drunk and bleary-eyed. 

“Oi, beg your pardon, I am not!” Nick throws a nugget at him. 

“As chicken as that nugget,” Louis says sadly, shaking his head. He hiccups, then burps into his fist before wiping his hand on his vest 

“Wow, what a catch,” Nick says, wrinkling his nose. Louis just shrugs, soft around the eyes but his grin as canny as ever. 

“Take me to a Burger King, mate, you’re gonna get Burger King manners. C’mon, now. I dared you. You up for it or nah? I can definitely think of summat else,” Louis says sincerely, listing a little bit in his seat. 

Nick finishes chewing on a pickle, pretending to consider it. He’s already made up his mind, though. He smirks. “Ask me proper, like.”

Louis looks at Nick like he’s hung the moon. His grin is all teeth, sharp and pointy and terrifyingly exciting. “I, Louis Tomlinson, dare you, Nicholas Grimshaw, to shotgun marry me.”

Nick throws his burger wrapper down, licking his fingers with steely determination. “Get me to the fucking chapel, Tomlinson.”

~*~

It’s a fabulous, mad idea, and like all the best, ridiculous plans that happen after seven or more drinks, it goes to shit almost immediately.

Firstly, after having decided to action the world’s barmiest dare, they end up wandering around for a good forty minutes using Nick’s GPS to try and either find a chapel nearby or where the fuck Louis’s hotel is. They find the second one in the end, after meandering in the wrong direction, however once they get there it is only to find Louis’s hotel does not, in fact, have a chapel. By then it is nearly half past two and Nick’s feet are going to fall off. Louis keeps complaining about the same, a half finished back of onion rings still clutched in his sweaty paws, but when Nick laughingly offers him a piggyback Louis looks downright murderous. It’s amazing. Nick is definitely going to make further mention of Louis being tiny, if it gets such a satisfying glare out of him. He’s like an angry chihuahua, yapping from a nan’s lap. 

“God, where are we,” Nick gripes, slumping against a brick wall. “Can we just find a pigeon to marry us or summat, I’m knackered.” He’s also starting to feel less drunk. He quite fancies his bed, and maybe a cuddle. A cuddle would be dead nice right now. 

Louis grunts, phone held about two milimeters away from his face as he stares into it. “Treasure Island!” he says abruptly, holding his phone triumphantly and tripping a little bit over nothing. It’s possible Louis is not feeling less drunk. 

“Err, I don’t think so?” Nick steadies Louis. “Feel like we’re still on the Strip.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head irritably, “don’t be daft, I mean Treasure Island Wedding Chapel! Let’s go there. It’s two mins that way. Bet Captain Jack can marry us, always fancied him.” Louis pockets his phone, stomping off and Nick trudged along behind him. 

Upon entering the glitzy and surprisingly tastefully decorated chapel, however, they hit snag number 2: _paperwork_. 

Nick had always thought a shotgun wedding in Vegas involved just, like, walking in. Apparently turning up in a veil and with half a bag of soggy onion rings is not actually enough, to Louis and Nick’s immense surprise. 

“Sorry,” the receptionist says, a peroxide blond young man with a thick Irish accent and a nametag that says ‘Neil’. “But we can’t marry you tonight, ‘m’afraid.” 

Louis’s mouth falls open indignantly as he leans obnoxiously against the counter. “What ― that’s discrimination!”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah!” Louis points accusingly. “Just ‘cos, like, we’re two blokes ―”

“Oh!” The receptionist looks surprised, then appalled. “Hey no, it’s not that at all! Pastor Payno does same sex weddings all the time.” 

He gestures at a picture on the wall to their left, of a good looking young man staring intensely out at them. Like, super intensely. Nick almost reels back a bit. There’s a huge garish chain around his neck, with a massive cross at the end. Nick would bet that it is not Vatican issued, or however they dole these things out. Pastor Payno is pouting out at them with a deliberate smoulder that Nick’s only ever seen his model mates trying to pull off. His hands are steepled as if in prayer, and covered in tattoos. It is...somewhat disconcertingly sexy. Nick’s not used to finding members of the clergy fit. He’s also never seen members of the clergy wearing what appears to be a mesh vest under their tracksuit jumper. Vegas is fucking weird. 

“Good old Pastor Payno. Bless me, Daddy, for I have sinned.” Neil makes the sign of the cross, then flips the picture off with a giggle. “No, you being blokes ain’t the issue.”

“What, then?” Louis narrows his eyes, leaning one elbow on the desk. It slips a bit on the shiny surface, under Louis’s drunken weight. “Is it ‘cos we’re bladdered?”

“Ha!” The receptionist waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, I mean you do smell like a fuckin’ sweaty brewery, no offence ―”

“Some taken,” Louis says stiffly, before he lifts the neck of his vest over his nose and sniffs loudly. He drops it again, making a face. “Oh right, fair ‘nuff, is a bit whiffy.”

Neil nods understandingly. “Anyway, youse being drunk is no biggie, we marry pissed fuckers all the time.”

“Are you allowed to swear this much?” Nick asks, genuinely curious and trying not to laugh. He’s about to get the giggles, he can feel it. The receptionist blinks at him like Nick’s an idiot. It’s an impressively withering look from someone with such a kind looking face. 

“Look, Neil,” Louis starts, having apparently tried to change tactics from confrontational to diplomatic. “Can I call you Neil?”

“It’s Niall, actually,” the receptionist says cheerfully. 

Louis blinks. “That says ‘Neil’, though.” He points a thin finger at the nametag. Niall-not-Neil looks despondently down at it. He sighs. 

“No, well yeah it does. But it’s Niall. Everyone just always spells it wrong,” he finishes morosely. 

“Neil,” Louis says kindly. “Just listen ―” 

“It’s Niall. 

“C’mon, Neil.” 

“Niall!” 

“Neil!” Louis bangs his fist on the counter. “We don’t have time for this! We need to get married, like, why can’t we just walk in and like.” He flaps his hands about. “It’s in the movies. The Hangover!” Louis finishes, incomprehensible and desperate. Somehow, Niall seems to understand. 

“Ah, no that’s the thing.” Niall leans his elbows forward on the counter, spreads his hands. “People think you just walk in off the street and get one, hey presto, but you gotta do a bit more than that.” Niall looks consolingly at Louis. “Need ta sort out the license, for one, and book it in. There’s some places ‘round here you don’t need to book, but you still need a license. And, like, rings don’t go astray. Have you got rings?” Niall asks tentatively, as if wary of the answer. 

Nick raises the greasy bag of onion rings, biting his lip and trying not to laugh. Louis looks like he’s just been told Christmas is cancelled. “This not count?”

Niall raises one eyebrow, looking like he’s trying not to laugh, too. “They onion rings?”

“Yep.” 

“Yeah, not quite the rings I meant.”

“Ah.”

“So, wait, we really can’t do it?” Louis says, with sad, drunken confusion. Niall looks genuinely dismayed to be disappointing him. What a nice bloke, Nick thinks, right before wondering if Niall would mind if Nick just had a quick nap behind the counter. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Niall says, and Louis sags. “If you’re still around we can do it for you in a day or so? You just gotta book it all in and sort the license. It’s not too hard.” 

“Oh.” Louis’s shoulders slump. “No, that’s okay. Well. Think the impulse might’ve gone by then?” He directs this at Nick, who is leaning dangerously against the wall and trying not to slide down it. He is so so knackered, as if weighed down by every awful drink he’s had this evening. His legs are filled with concrete. 

“Yeah.” Nick pats Louis on the shoulder, stifling a yawn. “C’mon, love.” He can’t help but feel like this not working out is a good thing. It is a bit mad to get married on a dare, even for Nick. “We can go get a cup of tea?”

“Oh, cup of tea’s a great idea,” Niall adds wistfully, nodding. He rests his chin in one hand, watching them both curiously. “Dunno where you’ll get one ‘round here, though.”

Louis sighs, then pulls the veil off his head. “Yeah, bet they’ll do it all wrong.” He tosses the gauzy material from side to side, then drops it on the counter. “Here,” he pushes it towards Niall, smiling as if he’s bestowing something wonderful upon on. “I want you to have this.”

“I don’t want that,” Niall says, still smiling and leaning calmly against his hand. 

“You’re welcome.” Louis magnanimously pats Niall on the hand. 

“Okay, let’s go, c’mon drunky.” Nick starts steering Louis towards the door. 

“Good luck with your pending nuptials!” Niall calls out as they leave. Nick waves back at him, one arm around Louis’s slumped shoulders as they trudge out onto the street.

~*~

The walk away from the chapel is surprisingly quiet and somber, compared to their raucous stumble towards it of barely thirty minutes prior.

Nick isn’t quite sure why and he ponders it as he walks next to Louis in what he hopes is companionable silence, and not budding awkwardness. He’s sobering up, in an unpleasant sort of way; his mouth is getting dry, and his eyes are itchy and tired. But still, they’ve had such a good night. Nick doesn't want it to end on a sour note. 

They walk a few more steps, the city winding down around them, before Louis sighs. “Sorry,” he says, voice thick and only a little bit slurry. It sounds more tired now than inebriated. 

Nick frowns. “Sorry for what?” 

Louis rubs one eye, then shrugs. “Dragging you all the way out here?” He runs his fingers through his hair, then scruffs it up. “Always a bit ridiculous when I’m out on the lash.” He grimaces over at Nick. “Got no impulse control at the best of times, it goes right out the window when I’m drinking.”

“Oh, no harm done.” Nick magnanimously doesn’t mention the blisters on his feet; serves him right for wearing posh shoes, really. “Really.” He bumps his shoulder against Louis’s, waits for Louis to smile up at him. Nick grins back when he does. “Would’ve been a mad story if we’d actually done it.” 

Louis puffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head incredulously. “Yeah, would’ve done. Bloody paperwork.” He scuffs a trainer against the pavement, pulling his smokes out and lighting one for himself only when Nick declines. Nick has a lot of vices, but menthols are not one of them, thankfully. 

“Yeah, sodding licenses or whatever.” Nick purses his lips thoughtfully. “It’s for the best anyway, I reckon. Like, what would our parents say?” 

Louis’s shoulders stiffen beside Nick, his mouth tightening into an unhappy line. He doesn't say anything, but Nick can tell he’s hit a nerve, or a sensitive spot. Nick goes on, because he's never met a silence he couldn't fill. He’s always been an anxious prattler, and the filter on his mouth gets weaker and weaker when he’s overtired. 

“My parents would probably be a bit shocked, or at least they’d pretend to be for a bit, for appearances sake,” Nick waffles on, “under it though, I reckon they’d not be that surprised that I got hitched on a whim. Well my mum that is, my dad...” Nick clears his throat. “Yeah. He would’ve laughed I think. If he were still around.” Nick’s voice catches on the last word and he swallows, suddenly awkward, the stirring of grief in his chest familiar as it always is. He presses his hand to his sternum, like he can keep the feeling there and massage it away at the same time. It always surprises him, the sudden resurgence of that sharp pang of loss, although it shouldn't. He thinks it will always be there, when he stumbles into talking about his dad unexpectedly, and he doesn’t think he’d have it any different. Forgetting him, not bringing him up, would be far, far worse. 

“Sorry to hear that.” Nick turns to find Louis watching him, and manages a smile. It feels more like a grimace, and Louis returns it with a smile that looks similarly strained. 

“Never knew my dad,” Louis says, bumping his shoulder up against Nick’s. He does it again, then tangles his fingers together with Nick’s in a move which is both deliberate and yet feels accidental, which is sweet yet designed to seem like a casual, throwaway gesture. Nick thinks that just about sums Louis up. 

“Yeah?” Nick clears his throat again, then coughs to get rid of the scratch in it. “What about your mum then, what would she have thought of you getting hitched to some plonker from Manchester you’ve known for a hot minute?” Nick jokes. 

Louis doesn’t laugh. He chews his lips, lets his fingers loosen then tighten again where they’re gripping Nick’s. “She would’ve laughed too, I think,” Louis says, after a long, quiet moment. “If she was still around.” His voice cracks at the end, and Nick presses his hand a little harder at his sternum, massaging over the renewing ache. 

“Oh, love,” he says. It’s woefully inadequate, but then there isn’t really anything he could say that would be enough. Louis lifts one shoulder in a sort of shrug, takes another drag of his cigarette. There’s barely anyone else around now, a few drunken stragglers meandering in a similar fashion to Nick and Louis. Nick stops, turns to face Louis, then pulls him into a sort of one armed sideways hug. 

It’s awkward, and not a good angle, and far from Nick’s best hug. It does at least startle a surprised laugh out of Louis as he stumbles into Nick. 

“Jesus,” he says into Nick’s top, cigarette hand angled away from Nick. “Steady on.” He drops his smoke, stubs it out with the toe of his trainer. 

“Sorry,” Nick says back thickly. His throat’s all clogged with emotion, and he kind of hates it, doesn’t know what to do with it; the only thing he finds harder to handle than his own grief is other people’s. “Just pretend I’m hugging you like a normal person, will you? Do me that favour.”

“Yeah, alright.” Louis sighs. He wraps his arms around Nick’s back, presses his face closer to Nick’s chest and doesn't say anything else. They stand there quietly, mismatched in height and at a weird angle, just out of the way of anyone walking past them and under a blinking neon sign. They must make a weird eyesore of a couple, Nick thinks, but it feels right, and nice, taking this comfort from each other after their unexpected twin admissions of loss. Nick shuts his eyes, rests his chin on Louis’s messy head, and rubs his palm up and down Louis’s warm back. 

Just as he started it, Louis is the one to break the silence. 

“D’you want, like, to get another drink now?” he asks, pulling back enough to blink up at Nick. He’s a bit sweaty, and it’s too warm to be cuddled up like this really, but Nick’s reluctant to stop just yet. 

“God, no.” Nick sniffs, making a face. “If we get any drunker, I think we might need our tummy’s pumped. Mine will have all that chilli sushi in it, and Skittles, and a bloody burger.” Nick scoffs. “The doctors will be all judgey and ‘ _what has ‘e been doing, just look at this junk, Karen!_ ’. And the hospital will cost an arm and a leg, with the healthcare system here. No, best we sober up ― what, why’re you looking at me funny?” 

Louis snorts a laugh. “‘Cos you’re mad. You know that, right?” Louis inches closer. His palms are warm against the small of Nick’s back. “Totally fucking barking.” 

“Oh. Well, yeah.” Nick nods, although he feels it’s a little bit of a pot calling the kettle back situation. Nick’s too busy being distracted by Louis pressing against his front to say it, though. 

Louis licks his lips. “D’you want to come to my hotel instead then?” 

“Yep.” Nick swallows, then tries not to swallow his tongue too. “I do want that. And like, also to kiss you,” he blurts, then cringes. That was not smooth. Nick is usually far, _far_ smoother. 

Louis laughs breathily. “Bit forward of you there, Nicholas.” He doesn’t move back an inch.

“Just being up front. Declaring my, thingies. Intentions.” God, he’s turned into Mr darcy for some reason. Nick badly needs to sleep. “We definitely do not have to, though,” he hastens to clarify. “You are so not obliged. You can tell me to fuck off even, I’m very thick skinned.” 

“Nah. I like forward,” Louis mumbles, tilting his face up and quickly pressing his lips against Nick’s in the same breath. 

For all that they’ve been talking about kissing, and for all that Nick brought it up, it still takes him a little by surprise. Louis’s mouth is soft, his chin a little scratchy with stubble, and he tastes like every bad decision they’ve made this evening: onion rings, red bull, sugar and cigarettes. Nick leaves one hand on Louis’s hip, lets himself walk the step or so backwards until his back is pressed to the wall and then leans against it. He sighs into the kiss.

The height difference between them is a big one, and Nick has to curve down a little, but the kiss is fucking nice. They’re both too drunk, and too exhausted, to really try and impress, or Nick is at least. He has the very distinct awareness that Louis is taking charge here, tilting Nick’s face down and to the side, his own face scrunched up into the sweetest frown as he concentrates on getting the angle he wants. Nick shuts his eyes.

Their lips move together, lazily exploratory, and Nick think this might be the least hurried first kiss he’s ever had with a bloke. That in itself is dizzying. The bricks behind his back are still warm with the Nevada heat, and the street is lit up around them, and Nick is kissing someone he’s just met and yet already feels like he knows better than the last bloke he dated. It’s intoxicating, all of it, and Nick has to break away to catch his breath and steady himself against the wall. Louis follows his mouth as he pulls away, humming as he presses soft kisses to his lips. Nick wraps his arms around the small of Louis’s back, holds him close against him. It’s frighteningly intimate. Nick feels like he could keep kissing Louis for another hour, or three, and then more.

“I like you,” Louis mutters, breath ghosting over Nick’s chin before he kisses it, soft and wet. Nick runs his fingers over the soft hair at the nape of Louis’s neck. 

“I like you, too.” 

“Do you?”

Nick laughs, just once. “Thought it might be obvious, yeah.” 

Louis hums again, the vibrations tingly over Nick’s chin. He pulls back enough to meet Nick’s eyes. “Is this like.” He licks his lips. “A rebound thing? It’s alright, if it is,” he hastens to add. “I know you, like, literally just broke up with someone. If this is, y’know. A mad rebound thing.” Louis does a little half shrug, one hand curved around Nick’s hip, his thumb fitting into the dip of it just under Nick’s jeans.

“I don’t know,” Nick confesses. He keeps his arms around Louis so as to keep him close against him. “I don’t think it is,” he says honestly. “Don’t feel very reboundy. Definitely want to keep hanging out with you. If you’ll have me.” 

Louis bites his lip. “You might not like me. If we hang out more. I’m not always…” Louis looks away quickly, and then back again. “I’m not always fun, or like, doing mad shit. I can be proper moody, and sometimes.” He sniffs, then smiles wryly. “Bit of an arsehole sometimes, so I’m told.” 

“Hmm. Same, I reckon,” Nick says after a moment. “I can be well annoying, I never shut up. If you can spend a week with me and not want to throttle me, you’re a saint.” He cards his fingers through Louis's hair, gets a smile out of him. 

“Alright then.” Louis drops his head against Nick’s shoulder. “I’m a stroppy cunt, and a you’re a gobby wanker, this probably isn’t a rebound, and I’m definitely about to fall asleep where I’m stood.” Louis pats Nick once on the hip, then slips his thumb back under the waist of Nick’s jeans. Nick chuckles. 

“Sounds about right. Let’s get an Uber then, yeah?” Nick curls one hand around Louis’s head, feels bold enough to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m not being funny but my feet are actually about to fall off, and I’d rather not walk there just on me stumps.”

Louis laughs softly then nods, the stubble of his cheek scritching against Nicks top. Nick pulls out his phone, chin resting on Louis’s head and one arm still slung around him as he opens the app.

~*~

Louis falls onto his bed almost as soon as they’re in the door to his hotel room. Nick, having had Louis dosing softly against his shoulder the whole car ride there, isn’t remotely surprised. The small digital clock on the bedside table blinks 4:39am at them in red, judgey numbers.

From the bed, Louis groans, face down against the duvet. He startles when Nick touches his ankle. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking your shoes off, love,” Nick says, pulling off one of Louis’s trainers and then the next. “Can’t sleep in ‘em, you’ll wake up all,” Nick waves a hand, “I dunno, just all wrong. Need to get your jeans off too, they look like they’re painted on. ” 

“Yeah.” Louis flops over onto his back with a heave and an exaggerated groan, just as Nick flops down on the bed next to him. “Tight as fuck,” Louis mutters as he undoes his fly, lifts his hips and manhandles the jeans down his legs. He kicks them onto the floor in a flurry of denim and hairy legs. He leaves his vest on, either out of a sense of modesty or because it’s actually a bit freezing in the room; the aircon’s been blasting, and it’s far cooler than the Nevada heat outside. 

Never one for that much modesty, Nick peels his own skinnies down. He knows he ought to fold them maybe, on the chair by the window and do the same with his t-shirt, but he’s so tired now. It’s weird to be so at home in the room of a bloke he’s known for two days, but he feels comfortable around Louis, like he’s somehow weasled into Nick’s life properly, even though Nick is himself so far removed from it right now. Nick has a moment of wondering how this would translate to his real life back in London, with his job producing at the BBC and his tidy little house. He knows Louis lives there too, working in a pub, which Louis seemed vaguely embarrassed by when compared to Nick’s job. He wonders how their lives would fit together, if their friends would get on, if Louis would want to even meet them. Nick knows he wants to see how Louis would fit in his life, see him in his house, with his dogs. Nick would really, really like that. 

Bloody hell. One snog against a wall, and Nick is already planning an afternoon with the dogs. He’s knackered and he’s getting ahead of himself; it’s been one hell of an evening. Nick smiles, shakes his head at himself, then stumbles up to flick the light switch off. He leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor, then yawns loudly as he feels his way blindly back to the bed, feet scuffing against the posh hotel carpet; Louis’s hotel is a bit more budget than Nick’s, but in Vegas that still seems to mean gaudy luxury. Nick is just about ready to fall asleep on the lush carpet, if he’s honest. 

“I have a confession,” he says, kneeling on the edge of the bed and accidentally squishing Louis’s hand with his knee. “I am far too knackered for anything sexy. Just so you know. If we try, I’ll fall asleep on you before anyone has an orgasm, and it’ll be amazingly disappointing.” He feels his way to a pillow. “And I am speaking from experience, yes.” 

Louis snorts a laugh, loud and indelicate. “Oh thank god you said that.” Louis’s voice is gravelly. Nick’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can make out that he’s lying on his back with one hand on his belly and the other behind his head. “I mean, I had this plan that I was gonna seduce you, give you all my best moves, but like.” Louis rubs his eyes tiredly. “I am pretty sure I could not even get a stiffy right now.”

Nick laughs deeply, then drops his head on the pillow. Louis shuffles closer, their foreheads bumping in the dark before his lips find Nick’s. “Give me your best moves another time, yeah? When there’s no whiskey dick to be dealt with.”

Louis laughs again, a tired giggle of a sound. He sounds as punchy with lack of sleep as Nick feels. 

“Yeah. Too tired for even a handy,” Louis says against Nick’s mouth. 

“Too tired for a hand shandy,” Nick agrees, settling onto his back. “Not too drunk for a cuddle, though, I hope?”

“Never.” Louis flops down on top of Nick, who _oofs_ underneath him. “Never ever.”

Nick makes a valiant attempt to get the blankets over them, or at least sort of around them. He leaves one leg out, already dreading the hangover sweats he’s going to wake up to. The room is silent except for the click and whirr of the aircon starting up again. Nick feels the tug of sleep building in the weight of his eyelids before Louis speaks again. 

“Hey, Nick?”

Nick blinks his eyes open, then again to make them stay like that. “Mmmm?”

“Can I tell you something?” 

"Yeah, ‘course.”

“‘s’bout why I’m here.” Louis doesn’t say anything more. Nick starts to wonder if he’s fallen asleep. 

“She said I should spend it on something for meself,” Louis mumbles, his voice slightly pillow-muffled, but clear enough. “Spend it just on me. When she was. After.” Louis swallows, the sound thick. Nick frowns. 

“Who did?”

Louis swallows again, blinking rapidly. His eyelashes flutter against the bare skin of Nick’s chest. “Mum,” he whispers. “Said she was leaving me some money and I should spend it all on meself, when she was gone.” Louis isn’t crying, but his voice is rough and his eyes shut tight. “Bit sad, innit? That I came here on my own, sat in a fucking bar in Vegas. Just didn’t know what to do with it, or who to take. Didn’t want to take anyone. Got here, though, and didn’t really fancy being alone either. Being alone’s shit.”

Nick stays quiet. 

“Latched onto you soon as I saw you.” Louis’s voice sounds far sadder than happy. Nick’s chest hurts. “Soon as I heard you, actually. Reminded me of home. Thought I wanted to get away, but it’s just fucking lonely when you leave people behind.” Louis wipes at his cheek, his hand coming away wet. Nick can see the shine of it in the faint glow from the street lights outside, coming in through a gap in the thick curtains. “Told you I’m not always fun,” Louis mumbles, chokes out a strangled laugh. 

Nick sags into the bed as he figures out what Louis means ― that his mum had left him some cash and wasn’t here anymore, that this all sounds tremendously recent. And Louis had spent it and...ended up in Vegas on his fucking own, gravitating towards a stranger because he had an accent that reminded him of home. Nick wraps his fingers around Louis’s wrist. He leaves them there in a loose hold. 

“Did you have an okay time?” Nick licks his lips. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel. “With the gobby northern wanker you met?”

Louis snorts a soft laugh, then wipes the back of his hand across his eyes again. “Yeah. S’been fun.” He turns his head up to look at Nick. “Had fun with you.”

Nick bites his lip. “Reckon you’ve done what she wanted, then. Your mum.” Nick hopes he isn’t overstepping. Louis’s expression doesn’t change, so Nick thinks perhaps it was an okay thing to say. 

“Yeah.” Louis sighs, his eyes wide and even a bit vacantly sleepy. “Thank you,” he mumbles, blinking slowly, catlike. “For like. Listening and shit. You’re nice to talk to. You’re just proper nice, d’you know that?”

“Yeah, I’m a catch.” He runs his thumb over Louis’s wrist again, over the jutting bone on the side. 

“Yeah.” Louis’s smile is lopsided, and sweet, his chin digging into Nick’s chest. “You are. That bloke who dumped you has bricks for brains.” 

Nick turns his face into the pillow, lets himself smile into it. “You know, I’m really not very upset about him, believe it or not.”

“No?”

“Nah.” Nick feels Louis rolls off him and onto his side, his face close to Nick’s on the pillow. Their noses are close enough to touch. “Met this other bloke, you see. He thinks I’m on the rebound, but joke’s on him ‘cos I think I proper fancy him.”

“ _Ooh_ , do you now,” Louis says theatrically. Nick can see the shape of his smile, the white of his teeth. 

“Yeah.” Nick lets his hand slide down to Louis’s lower back, then sighs. “Also, he’s got an amazing bum.” 

Louis laughs, one eye shut sleepily. “Cor, you’ve moved on from Brickbrain fast, then. Bit slaggy of you, innit, Nicholas?”

“Oi, ‘scuse you!”

Louis laughs delightedly, then pushes into Nick’s space suddenly. He kisses him, missing his mouth at first and laughing. 

“Hey.” Nick licks his lips. “So.” 

“So?”

“Dare you to get dinner with me back in London?” Nick grins. “Dare you to keep hanging out with me?” Nick bites his lip, raises one eyebrow. 

Louis breathes out, his smile crinkling his tired eyes. “Big fucking dare, mate.” 

“I just nearly married you.” 

Louis laughs again, soft and delighted. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. You can have my number. Take me somewhere dead fancy.” He kisses Nick again. “Gonna be so hungover tomorrow,” he says against Nick’s lips. Nick hums against his mouth in reply. It is a fact, at this stage. He can already feel the tight thud of a hangover headache uncoiling between his temples. 

“Same. Tired and emotional.” Nick lets his breath out as Louis lies back down against his chest. “We can get a McDonald’s, that’ll sort us out.”

“God.” Louis groans, shuffling closer into Nick’s space. “Now you’re talking. Could murder a mcmuffin. Or whatever they have here. One McWhatever, please,” he says in a terrible American accent. He sounds half asleep already. 

“Mmm. McVegas, probably. Four pounds of bacon and nine eggs.”

“Yeah,” Louis yawns. “Could murder that.” 

Nick lay there for a moment, listening to the slow sounds of Louis’s breathing. Louis snuffles into his neck, one leg slung over Nick’s waist. It’s going to be too hot, soon, and Nick will get fidgety. He hates being sweaty in his sleep. Despite this, the urge to push Louis off then slide away and sleep on his own side of the bed isn’t there. Nick curls his fingers around Louis’s bare hip, just under his top, and holds him close just for the sake of keeping him there. He shuts his eyes, lets sleep roll over him. 

Nick’s got two days left here, then he’s back in the UK, in the grey weather and the familiar sounds of the city he loves. 

It’s been a mad night, with a ridiculous, lovely bloke. It doesn’t feel remotely like the end.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> say hello to me on [tumblr](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) if you like xxx


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